


Bœn Svara

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Meira En Elskaði [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Plot, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Not-Really-Old-Norse AU, Other characters play minor parts kind of, Period Typical Violence, Thundershield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the two years that follow first Stevaein Magri's visit to the temple, he is rewarded for the patience of his teenage years. He grows strong and tall, a match even for the strongest of Hefnabjǫð's warriors. And, having given his body willingly to Thor, he has returned to the temple whenever he can before each battle to ask for strength and courage, fought each of those battles in Thor's honour, and returned after them to thank Thor for his gifts.</p><p>Thor, ever pleased to see him, welcomes him each time, greeting him in his statue's stead so that Stevaein's love for him - and his for Stevaein - can be shared between them. But the Blackhearts grow in strength and number. They want the land - and men - of all Nyrfoldheim, and it soon may come to pass that prayers and tributes are not enough to ensure the safety of both Stevaein <i>and</i> his friends. Not, at least, if they are only offered to Thor alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bœn Svara

**Author's Note:**

> **Nyrfoldheim** \- the land that fights to keep its freedom against the Blackhearts  
>  _From 'Nyr' (New) 'Fold' (earth) and 'Heim' (home)_
> 
>  **Hefnabjǫð** \- One of nine of Nyrfoldheim's main villages, the village of which Stevaein Magri and his friends are champions  
>  _From 'Hefna' (Avenge) and 'Bjǫð' (Land)_
> 
> This is an interlude, I'm working on the next part. Also, I know these weapons are woefully inaccurate of the time period. But it's an AU so I can pretend that Tony is just that smart :P

The Blackhearts stood before them in numbers greater than any Stevaein had ever seen, too many to be counted, and he knew in that moment that they would be hard pressed to defeat them. But he had, as always, visited the temple the night before and asked Thor for strength, for courage, for the watchful eye of the Thunderer to be cast over his friends as they fought, and he did not doubt Thor's love or his power.

"I hope your prayers serve us well," Bjarnd murmured, gazing at the legions of men facing them. They were not alone in their fight - warriors from all the villages had gathered to do battle here, but Stevaein and his companions, whose skill and bravery showed them to be the mightiest of heroes, had been chosen to stand at the forefront.

"They shall," Stevaein answered, sparing a smile for his friend's concern "as they always do."

"And all Nyrfoldheim be forfeit if you're wrong," Bjarnd muttered.

This time, Stevaein frowned at him, although his smile remained. "Not that we'll live to see it if that's so," he said.

Bjarnd snorted. "Oh great comforts," he said, and Stevaein laughed.

"Never have I seen a man defeat you, Bucky," he said, staring down at his friend with the love of a brother in his eyes. "Save your fears for when one does."

"You mean 'if' one does, and that shan't be today," Bjarnd answered, and Stevaein laughed again.

"Then surely you've no need to fear."

Bjarnd rolled his eyes and looked to Natasha. 

"Fight well," she said, and Bjarnd nodded.

"I intend to."

"I'll bet you five gold pieces she fights better than you," Starkad put in.

"Seven," Klint answered.

Braes rolled his eyes. "Betting gold we don't have?" he said, and Klint snorted.

"I'll have plenty soon enough."

"Make it ten," Nattalegg answered instead, turning to regard Starkad, "and I'll bring home a fresh dagger to make sure he pays it."

Bjarnd laughed, hooking his arm about her waist to draw her close, sharing a passionate kiss before she drew away with a smirk, lips stained red.

"If you die, I'll not wait before I seek another to warm our bed," she said, her smile blinding.

"Aye, but you'll never find one so willing as I," Bjarnd answered, swiping his tongue over the cut on his lip where she had bitten him.

He let her go, heaving his sword from its scabbard as he leered at her. Stevaein did not begrudge them their affection, strange though the way they chose to display it was. For, despite their affection and good humour, they all knew that there would be those who did not return to their villages this eve.

And Stevaein was glad, too, that Bjarnd had found such a match in Nattalegg, his heart aching briefly that the only love he had himself could not stand with him now. Even Braes and Starkad had found strange symmetry with Klint, and though Stevaein never felt truly alone, for Thor's gaze stretched over all of Nyrfoldheim, he wished that he too could feel the press of lips against his own to fortify him, as Starkad's pressed to Braes' and then to Klint's, as Klint and Braes turned to each other and kissed too.

But, with hope and with luck, there would be time to thank his only love later. And so he turned and gazed upon their enemy.

Standing at the head of the Blackhearts, were five men.

The first could have matched Nattalegg, his shoulders broad and his head shaven on one side, a manic grin fixed in place and a glaive held in one dirty fist. A dull grey breastplate rested on his torso, but he was without tunic, painted instead with charcoal that stretched from his belt to his jaw.

The second, a man whom Starkad could perhaps better, turned as they watched and rallied the closest of his men with a screeching cry as he raised his club. He had appeared at first unadorned, but they saw, as he showed his back, that he, too, had been painted. Though his blond hair fell to his shoulders, lank and dull with dirt, woad, bright and blue, seemed to seep downward from it.

The third, a man whose bronze pauldrons gleamed brighter even than Klint's, stood tall, his dark hair pulled back ineffectually in a mess of a warrior's queue, the lower half of his face smeared with thick clay.

The fourth would be a match for Braes and seemed ready to prove as much. He wore rerebraces and a gorget of copper, moss green adorning his forearms and a scythe resting at his side.

And the last, a man as tall and broad as Stevaein, a man whose breastplate and vambraces were black as night, and a man Steve knew to be their monster of a leader, laughed coldly. His head shaven, a poleaxe already held before him, all his skin was daubed with blood with his eyes and cheeks blackened with charcoal so that, in the bright light of the sun-kissed snow, his head appeared little more than a skin-stripped skull.

“Nattaleg,” Stevaein murmured, and the tilt of her head told Stevaein that she had heard.

“The Blackthroat won't match me nearly as well as he thinks,” she answered, and Stevaein nodded.

“Starkad?”

Starkad smirked. “Let's see how bold Blueback is when he faces me,” he answered.

“Braes?"

"I'll take the Green Gauntlets,” he answered. “And I'll wipe the smile from his face.”

“Klint?” Stevaein asked, and the hawk shrugged, smiling openly at him.

“Whitejaw seems interested in my prowess,” he answered. “I'll entertain his curiosity.”

“Bucky?” Stevaein said finally, turning to see him. Bjarnd only smiled in return.

“I'll fight by your side,” he said, “as always. I don't much like your chances alone against that thing.”

Even as they watched, the Red Skull bared his teeth and shook his poleax and Stevaein nodded. “I shall be glad to have you with me,” he said, raising his voice. “Stand you ready?”

“Aye,” came back to him from all sides, from Bjarnd and Nattalegg, from Braes and Starkad, from Klint and every man besides.

He raised his shield before him and held his gleaming sword high over his head, the constellations engraved upon both by Starkad himself, and he heard the cry go up around him.

Across from them, rallied by the Red Skull, the Blackhearts too raised their weapons and their voices.

"Today is a good day to fight," he said softly, closing his eyes for a moment, "and a good day to die if it is so chosen. I fight this battle in the name of Thor, in defence of the realm of Nyfoldheim led by Hefnabjǫð, and ask that you give my men strength and courage, if you cannot aid our people's victory."

And then he opened his eyes, glanced at his companions and, despite himself, he smiled.

"For Thor, and Nyfoldheim!" he cried, the others taking this rallying call for their signal, and the two sides surged forward to begin the battle.

~

Braes quickly lost sight of the others as he stepped into the fray, wielding his mace with as much ease as a child might wield a stalk of corn, his cry of delight heard well above the other shouts from those around him. While the Green Gauntlet fought hard, he could never beat the fury unleashed by Braes' honour and will to fight.

He beat the Gauntlet down and sought his next target, spinning back to crack the skull of the nearest Blackheart with a cry of glee before beating another about the head, using his falling body to make his next leap that much greater.

~

Nattalegg moved fluidly, with as much ease and grace as water over stones, her two three-pronged daggers held tightly in her hands. Ducking low and swinging high, she used the shoulders of one man to propel herself into another, landing at the shoulders of Blackthroat and driving her daggers deep into the junctures where his shoulders met his neck. His howl of pain was curtailed as she twisted and snapped back, breaking his neck, and she rolled away as his body dropped lifelessly.

She moved on to the next man, and the one after, with the greatest simplicity - embedding one dagger into the first man's chest, she swung her body around him and caught her legs about the second man's neck, breaking it with one swift movement as she stabbed a third who had thought his approach unnoticed as she moved off once more.

~

Starkad laughed, cutting great swathes with metal that glinted blue in the sunlight, for the blade was so thin that it looked to be weak. And therin lay the deception - he swung the blade forward, the whistling hiss of it slicing the air music to his ears, and the blade rang when it struck and sliced in two Blueback's club. Screaming in fury, Blueback leapt at him as the fighting continued around them, and Starkad smiled, standing tall as he waited, and waited, and waited until - to all others - he seemed to have begun his movements too late he he swung the blade forward and up.

But Blueback came to a sudden halt, confusion clear upon his features and, for a moment, there was silence between them.

And then he fell, his head and left arm and shoulder cleaved from his torso and sliced as cleanly as a dagger through butter, Starkad's straight-razor of a sword still humming softly in his hands.

~

Klint ran before aught else, nocking an arrow as he watched a body fall away from him, courtesy of Nattalegg. And he used that body beneath his feet, leaping into the air off the body's chest, to kick himself from another's shoulder, drawing back the bowstring and taking aim before his leap had crested to loose his arrow into Whitejaw's head as he came down.

Whitejaw's skull snapped back, his body following the movement and he fell down, down and down and Klint landed beside him, loosing three more arrows into three more men before he even paused to breathe.

~

On and on the battle raged, and they all fought hard. Each time he could, Stevaein stepped in to save others, to rid them all of this enemy one by one. And, slowly, the midday turned to eve, and the fighting grew slow and weary - save for Stevaein and Bjarnd and the Red Skull.

With enough trouble still remaining to occupy the rest of the Hefnabjǫð warriors, Stevaein and Bjarnd fought together, muscles aching, limbs heavy, and the Red Skull fought them each in turn.

The Red Skull was not nearly so easy as Stevaein had foolishly anticipated. He had thought the Red Skull a man like any other, but he, and Bjarnd too, had fast been overwhelmed by the speed and strength of such a man. He ducked and weaved and kept himself beyond their reach, disappearing into his surrounding soldiers each time he found himself at a disadvantage and, where Bjarnd and Stevaein continued to fight, defending themselves, the Red Skull could fall back and rest.

Stevaein was no longer frail and weak, and Bjarnd had been able to fight for years, but each blow the Red Skull dealt was harder than the one before, denting the beautiful shield Starkad had made for him - no doubt he'd get a scolding for that later, if he lived that long - and Stevaein managed to lift his sword in time to block a blow from the Red Skull's poleaxe.

Bjarnd was fighting just as hard, at Stevaein's side as he'd promised, but they were making no headway, had made none for hours.

"Such small creatures," the Red Skull told them both, his accent strange and unnerving to Stevaein's ears. "I will wipe you from the face of the earth like insects-"

"You'll have to catch us first," Bjarnd answered, swinging his sword forward and, as the Red Skull moved to block the blow, Stevaein slammed his shield against the side of the Red Skull's head.

But, far from felling him, it only seemed to anger him, to spur him on. The Red Skull fought back at him as Stevaein raised his shield over his head in defense, beating the metal with his poleax, harder and harder and faster and faster until Steve was driven to his knees.

"Retreat," Red Skull told him. "Run away like the children you are."

And, just as Stevaein thought his strength would leave him, Bjarnd's cry resounded through him and the Red Skull stagered back, clutching at Bjarnd's arms where they were wrapped around his throat from behind. But it could not last long - the Red Skull was too powerful for that and he twisted, reaching back to fling Bjarnd off himself. And Bjarnd landed hard, skidding to a half against the snow and dirt to lie still.

Though fearful of Bjarnd's condition, Stevaein took that moment to drive his blade through the Red Skull, hoping to end him. But the blow did not land as he intended, coming to rest in the Red Skull's shoulder instead of through his heart.

The Red Skull gave a roar of pain, drew the sword from his shoulder as though his body were a scabbard, and hurled the weapon glinting across the battlefield until it dropped from Stevaein's sight, and Stevaein knew that if he had thought himself in trouble before then it was nothing compared to now.

The Red Skull walked toward Stevaein so that Stevaein had no choice but to back away, and though he looked left and right for a weapon, there was nothing close enough to lift. 

"Perhaps I should gut you," the Red Skull told him. "Spill you across this field like so much wine."

Stevaein drew a deep breath and lunged toward the Red Skull, lunging with his his shield out to deflect the poleax, hoping against hope that he could land a blow to the Red Skull's face and-

The cry he gave left his lips before he understood it, and he crumpled half to the ground before a hard blow from the poleax handle sent him sprawling across the snow, his shield skittering away. He fell hard, gasping as the impact drove the pain deeper, and he looked down to see a thin, black handle protruding from his armor.

A blade, the smallest dagger, embedded there. He should have guessed the Red Skull would not fight with honour.

The Red Skull continued to advance, step by step, and he chuckled low and deep as Stevaein reached for his shield, crushing Stevaein's wrist beneath one black boot.

"You do not yield?" he said, regarding Stevaein as though he were nothing but dirt on the sole of his boot.

"Never," Stevaein answered, and the Red Skull raised his poleax high over his head as he smiled, preparing to break Stevaein's skull in two.

"You would have done better to run."

Stevaein braced himself for the blow Red Skull would have dealt him, for the pain and for death even as Bjarnd seemed to stir so far away from him. And the sharp clang of metal on metal not only jarred them both but Stevaein looked to his saviour's face to find it was one he knew.

Not any of his friends, not any of the warriors he had met or fought alongside, not any of the many people he knew and had known stood there. 

Instead, he saw _himself_ , holding _another_ shield above him to keep him from harm, blue eyes hard and clear, hair golden and picked up by the breeze.

The Red Skull stared in shock, at not one Stevaein but two, and this gave Stevaein the chance to move, to swing his leg about and take the Red Skull's ankles out from under him.

He rolled away, toward his shield, and snatched it up, finding the handle of his own sword beneath his hand, by his side once more. This too he grasped tightly and he rolled to his feet, thrusting the blade forward in time to see the Red Skull's mouth fall open in a silent scream, his eyes widening.

He looked down, as Stevaein looked down, and found himself impaled. Stevaein had not even intended to do it, but the Red Skull's blood ran down the blade, following the lines of the constellations and crawling toward the hilt, toward Stevaein's hand.

He withdrew it, quickly and cleanly, and the Red Skull fell to the ground and lay unmoving. And, when Stevaein turned to seek his copy, to seek whatever had worn his face and body and thus saved his life, he found none there but Bjarnd, who was pulling himself to his hands and knees.

"Steve," he murmured, and then, "Steve!?"

Stevaein ran to his side, crouching in the snow to help him kneel, and then to sit. "I'm here," he said, "you are safe and we-"

"Where's-" Bjarnd asked, but Stevaein shook his head.

"Dead," he said, "he is dead, I...I ran him through."

Bjarnd pressed one hand to his head and laughed quietly. "I rest my eyes for two minutes and you've finished the fight when I wake. How unfair of you."

Around them, the few men remaining who wished to die were already falling, and those who threw their arms down had already surrendered.

"Come," Stevaein said, helping Bjarnd stand with a wince he did his best to hide. "We must return to the others. We should celebrate our victory."

"Mmm," Bjarnd agreed, beginning to limp back. Stevaein, though offering support, was just as weary, his body in just as much pain, and so they leaned upon each other in the hopes of making it back together without collapsing entirely. "How did you fell him, in the end?" Bjarnd asked. "You said by sword but how did he come to leave himself so open?"

And Stevaein's triumphant smile faded at little, his shield heavy at his back, his sword heavy at his side. And then he shook his head, still easing his and Bjarnd's weight forward, step by step to begin the journey home.

"I don't know," he said.

~

Stevaein was still smiling by the time they reached home, though the fatigue wasn't helping the pain, nor was the cold of the winter his furs could not protect him from. Still, their morale was high. With Braes faring a little better than he had before, Starkad's spirits were lifting, too, and Klint and Nattalegg were impassive as always.

“And how fare _you_ , Stevaein the Scraggy?” Starkad said, the blood on his face – not his – split by the wide, white grin he favored at times like these. 

Stevaein laughed softly at the old term of endearment, rendered obsolete these days, not that it deterred the blacksmith's son. “Better than you, Starkad,” he said, without sparing him more than a glance. “I kept my armor clean.”

“Of _others'_ blood,” Nattalegg answered, her arm around Bjarnd's waist, Bjarnd's face buried in her neck as his own hands wandered. 

“I spy plenty of your own,” Klint added, not that Steve was surprised to hear it. Apart they were formidable – together, invincible - but Klint wasn't _Klint kalla Haukr_ for nothing. His Hawk's eyes missed nought, in battle nor in rest.

“I'll heal,” Stevaein told him, told all of them, “I make my offering tonight.”

Bjarnd's free hand landed hard on his shoulder as the flakes of snow swirled around them. “Aye, you will, and we'll not see hide nor hair of you when we feast, until the morrow. This victory was clean – and _ours._ Surely your sacrifice can wait?”

Stevaein only shook his head. “Bucky, would you deny your gods their right?”

“Would I drink alone,” Bucky answered mournfully, and, Nattalegg still entwined with him, fell into step beside Stevaein, one arm slung across Stevaein's shoulders as he held up his other hand. “The maidens await, good food and good music, and we'll tell tales."

"Starkad and Blueback the Stained!" Starkad laughed.

"Haukr and the Whitejaw!" Klint put in.

"Aye, the warriors of Nyrfoldheim 'gainst the Blackhearts, and the victory of the Hefnabjǫð six!"

"I'd prefer the..." Stevaein grimaced a little, shifting his cloak about his body. "The Humility of the Red Bear?" he said, mindful of his request from Thor. "The victory wasn't ours alone."

"Nay, it was _yours,_ " Bjarnd answered. "Magri and the Red Skull! You beat the scoundrel with your best man asleep behind you. What tales can be told if you're not there to hear them offered?”

“I offer to Thor first,” Stevaein answered, shaking his head. “Our victory was clean, but I owe it to him.”

“Aye, you always do,” Bjarnd answered, rolling his eyes as he let go of Stevaein's shoulder in defeat. “Above your friends?”

Stevaein stopped crunching through the snow to look at Bjarnd. “Bucky,” he murmured, “I'd never hold anyone above you.”

“I know that, skin-and-bones,” he said, clapping the back of Stevaein's huge shoulder as he made to move onward – if he saw the grimace Stevaein gave then he ignored it. “But we miss you at our celebrations.”

"Speaking of celebrations," Starkad interjected.

“I could stand a little mead!” Klint told them, and Braes only took Starkad's blade to examine it as Starkad began an explanation into its forging.

"Those maidens you mentioned," Nattalegg's voice found Stevaeins ears though it was not meant for them. "Pursue them when you could pursue me instead, and I'll leave you the _Enuch_ Warrior of Hefnabjǫð."

"I mentioned them for Stevaein's sake!" Bjarnd answered, clutching at her. "What could a wounded warrior such as I require save for the beauty of his wife and the touch of her hand?"

"Hmm, just as well. If you behave, you'll get more than my hand, I promise you," she said, and Stevaein hoped the chill that reddened his cheeks would hide the blush there as Bjarnd groaned wantonly, kissing her as though they were alone, his hands roaming somewhat ineffectually over her armour.

"Charming," Starkad muttered. "Is this a private celebration or may anyone join?"

"I'll celebrate you," Klint answered. "Follow me and I'll have this armor off faster than you can beg me to."

“I don't beg!”

Braes snorted. "Food first," he said. "We've a feast to be at and I'm starving."

And so they chattered and laughed as they made their way to the halls.

Stevaein fell back to the end of them, watching them trudge toward the lights of their village ahead of him - his friends, his champions.

"Hey," Bjarnd said, calling back to him. "What keeps you?"

Stevaein felt cold, tired, and his side still ached and stung from the Red Skull's dishonourable fighting. But he'd have it seen to once he thanked Thor.

"I'll make my peace at the temple," he said, pointing toward it. "Save me meat and mead."

Klint laughed. "I cannot guarantee we'll save you aught but crumbs!" he shouted, and Stevaein smiled as their figures grew smaller and his own steps grew heavier.

The doors of the temple were unguarded now, for all the village was celebrating their victory and the threat was gone. But, where snow crunched beneath his feet and soaked the bindings at his legs, the warmth of the temple began to leech into his bones as soon as he stepped inside. It brought him relief, instantly, to be within the temple walls once more.

Although, somehow, it left him even wearier than before.

Stevaein winced as the doors closed behind him, the wound in his side pulling painfully. It would be no concern soon, he would see a healer before long, but the thanks he would offer Thor must come first, as it always had, with the words he knew so well he could recite them as he slept. His name, his heritage, his prayer.

The great hall of the temple seemed somehow longer than it ever had previously, and Stevaein wondered if, perhaps, it was his own weariness causing such an illusion.

He sighed heavily, reaching up to unfasten his cloak. Perhaps Thor would hold him, as he so often had, if he but asked, if he offered his body. Perhaps Thor would soothe the pain in his side and the ache in his skull.

He pulled off his sodden shoes to leave them by the doors, and tried his best to walk to Thor's statue, feet dragging behind him, and slipped a little, unsteady.

When he turned to see why this should be so, where he should have caught his clothes or tripped, he found nothing but dark marks upon the marble.

He shook his head, unable to understand, and the temple seemed to grow in length, the air to become somehow heavier, until his limbs were cold and his vision blurred.

He did not so much place his shield and sword at the feet of Thor's statue as they felt from his hands, his fingers growing numb. And perhaps he needed to sleep instead, perhaps he would do better to forego the feasting and rest.

"I am," he rasped, his voice rough and broken. "I...I am Stevaein Magri of..." He sank awkwardly to his knees at the statue's feet, ready to press his mouth to the pale ankles there. "I am Stevaein...Magri, o-of Josef and..." He closed his eyes against the pain, against the weariness, and he opened his mouth to speak again, to beg for Thor's presence as his unsteadiness grew.

"My, my," a voice that was deep and dark and rich echoed from the walls. "What have we here?"

Stevaein startled, eyes snapping open and, hand still closed about the ankle of Thor's statue, he looked back over his shoulder with a wince.

In black and green and gold, adorned like a noble and startlingly, painfully beautiful, stood a man. He was tall and slender, his skin pale as milk, and black and green and gold swept about him like smoke. But he smiled in a way that suggested he might be hungry, and that Stevaein might be his chosen game.

"W-Who are you?" Stevaein asked, shivering despite himself, turning on his hands and knees to face this man, so as not to leave his back unprotected. But even this caused him pain, and he pressed one hand to the ache, to the burning ache in his side.

"Do you not know?" the man asked, looking far from insulted. Instead, he looked amused, and turned his back.

"I mean to..." Stevaein swallowed hard, tasting copper and shaking his head to clear it. "Please...Leave us. I-I must thank Thor, for he answered my prayers-"

"Thor alone?" the man asked him, walking with silent footsteps to the pool of water. And then he frowned at the dark marks Stevaein had left on the marble.

"I must..." Stevaein murmured, looking up at the face of the statue. He could no longer remember why, only that he must. "I..." Stevaein turned back to the statue of Thor, reaching up to it, to try and touch its fingers with his own. "Thor..." he whispered, and then he knew no more.

~

Loki frowned at the smears of dark liquid on the marble floor, that led to Thor's mortal warrior champion. And when there was a clatter of metal, Loki ignored it for, if Thor's word held true, the mortal would be undressing, shedding weapon and clothing alike. He had come close to death today and, even now, did not seem to know who had drawn him back from it.

"Come, mortal, do you not recognise yourself?" Loki asked, changing his form into the one he had worn on the battlefield, matching the mortal's face and body for his own amusement this time, and he turned with splayed hands to display his form only to find that his brother's mortal was not watching him.

Had he not seen the figure moments before, he would not have recognised the pile of clothes for a human at all, and he allowed the glamor to slip, wearing his own face as he advanced on the reverent mortal.

"Or perhaps your interest in Thor does not-"

The squeak of Loki's shoes on the marble was almost as embarrassing as the way his feet slipped out in front of him. Loki flung out a hand to the steady himself on the altar and he looked down, cursing, to find that the melted snow and mud he had expected were not to blame. Instead, seeping out from beneath the blue woolen cloak, blood was pooling at the figure's side.

Loki's smile vanished and he crouched, pushing the mortal to one side, rolling him to get at his body and-

"Oh," Loki said, his hands coming away sticky with blood. "Such fragile creatures. Thor?"

Thor did not answer him and Loki rolled his eyes.

"Thor, I am Loki Odinsson of Odin and Frigga and I ask that you help me deal with your little charge before he floods the temple with his blood."

Immediately the white of the marble statue turned to flesh, sweeping down from Thor's head to his toes, and he was off his seat in a moment.

"Stevaein?" he whispered, lifting the unconscious man into his arms, shaking him in some effort to rouse him. "Stevaein!

"Oh good, you're naked," Loki informed him, “amongst other things.” 

But Thor ignored it. "No, this...this should not be," he murmured, staring at the fast-paling face of the man in his arms.

"Thor," Loki said softly, "I know this is unfortunate but all that could be done was done-"

"No, he is to live," Thor answered. "He must live, his life is of great import!"

"Really?" Loki asked, trying to be gentle. "And how are we to-"

"I will bear whatever wrath I must for this," Thor answered: "He comes with us to Asgard; Heimdall!"

And, with that, Thor stood, still as naked as the day he'd been born save for the strip of cloth that hung about him, cradling the substantial figure of Stevaein Magri like nothing more than a child, and vanished in a column of light.

Loki paused for a moment as the true extent of such an action washed over him, and then he shook his head with a sigh, turning his gaze toward the skies before he, too, called for Heimdall, and followed Thor to Asgard.

~

As soon as Thor's feet touched the ground, he moved, uncaring of his state of undress - no doubt, he realised, it would make for gossip when they reached the city - and barely gave Heimdall a glance.

"You-"

"Later," Thor answered, already half running.

"A horse?" Heimdall answered, and Thor swung around to regard him.

"You have one?" he asked.

"Two," Heimdall nodded, as Loki's form materialised.

"Heimdall," Thor said, smiling, "you are a wonder."

And then he was off once more, out onto the bifrost, to take the first of the two horses.

~

"My brother rides to Asgard," Loki sighed, and Heimdall watched as Thor mounted the horse, manhandling the unconscious mortal until he, too, was safely in Thor's grip once more and then, with a harsh cry to his mount, Thor was off.

"And without his armour for protection," Heimdall nodded. "He's a braver man than I."

Loki smiled as he moved to take the second horse, swinging himself into the saddle with ease and grace, and it reared beneath him, whinnying as he held the reins fast.

"Bravery is one word for it," he answered over his shoulder, and then he too was riding to the city.

~*~

Thor was cautious as he set Stevaein's body down upon the Healers' table, leaving go of him only because he knew he must. They, tall and pale, gentle and distant, gathered around him with grace and caution, and the gold replica of Stevaein's body formed above him to hover in the air.

“A grievous wound,” Eir murmured, her slender fingers working through the golden light to the image of the wound in Stevaein's body.”Magic bound.”

“Magic?” Thor asked her, still unable to tear his gaze from the pallid, near lifeless body of Stevaein. He knew this man like no other knew him, had spent each night before battle listening to him speak, each night after battle feeling him respond. They had formed a bond together, one that lay beyond the physical acts they often shared and, though he knew it unwise, Thor could not deny Stevaein or himself, and longed to see Stevaein as healthy and eager now. “How?”

“The dagger?” Eir answered him. “I know not of the source but the magic within it has become like poison.”

Loki entered the room silently, and Thor spared him a glance by way of thanks. 

Stevaein asked only for others, never for himself. Since the first night he had come to Thor seeking to join his friends only that he might serve his duty, he had only ever sought protection for them, victory not for himself but for his people. 

And, as much as Thor loved him dearly, he was a God, and kept his promises – he protected Stevaein's friends, Stevaein's people, for that was what Stevaein asked of him. And he protected Stevaein if he could, of course. But, as the Allfather had told him once, Stevaein did not make himself part of the 'bargain' and, thusly bound by Stevaein's prayer, Thor's sought-after attention was to the people first.

He dreaded to think what might have happened had Loki not taken it upon himself to step in when he had. Thor owed Loki Stevaein's life. And he owed an apology to Stevaein, too. If Stevaein ever woke again.

“I cannot undo this magic,” Eir said softly, and Thor opened his mouth to plead with her before she held up a hand to halt his words. “But it will heal itself in time.”

For a moment, Thor dared not breathe. And then he found his voice. “He will live?” he asked, in little more than a whisper. 

“Aye,” Eir said, smiling. “He will.”

Thor gave a huff of breath close to a laugh, and looked to Loki. Loki, too, smiled, nodding slowly. “And what of his injury?” he asked, stepping forward so that the golden glow lit his skin. “Must it remain until the magic fades?”

“No,” Eir answered, turning to set to work. “The flesh, I can begin to heal now.”

And so Thor stood aside to watch Stevaein as the Healers converged, and Loki turned away in a brief flutter of his deep, dark coat and was gone. 

Thor found himself more than irritated by his brother's absence, feeling that absence keenly - Stevaein was injured grievously, though the healers were confident and, without Loki's steadfast presence by his side, Thor felt lost, abandoned. Until Stevaein was past danger, until his mortal body was healed and the magic within him fading, Thor's anxiousness would remain - of that he was sure. 

The Healers first undressed Stevaein, lifting his body, turning him this way and that until he lay naked, and then they lifted him once more to tie a sash about his hips that he might have the modesty Midgardians still felt the need for. And then the golden image of Stevaein's body seemed to glow more brightly, the wound in his side just as visible in the projection as it was in his body, the twist of magic curling within. 

They set to work quickly, moving the golden image, turning it to find their course of action and, so quickly that at first Thor did not register whose presence it was, Loki moved toward him, clothes from Thor's chambers held in his hand. 

"In case you feel the cold," he said, a turn to the corner of his mouth. 

Thor nodded, taking them from him with another nod of thanks, words beyond him now. He dressed quickly not because he felt he needed to hide himself, but because he wished to see for himself the Healers' work. 

They were setting Stevaein's body to heal, changing his very structure, when Eir gasped and drew back. 

Thor, in turn, stepped forward. "Why have you-" 

"Wait," Eir said, her gaze distant and her brow furrowed. "He-" 

On the table, Stevaein groaned, his brow furrowing, too. And, before Thor could stop him, his eyes snapped open, unfocussed and dark, a gasp escaping his lips before he rolled to one side, clutching at the wound with a cry as his feet hit the ground. 

The Healers scattered and Stevaein fell onto his knees, one hand against his side, the other grasping the edge of the table. Eir made as if to touch him and he reeled, flinging out bloodstained fingers to ward her off. "Get back," he barked, his voice rough and pained as the sash twisted about him, foiling his movements as he made to stand. 

Another of the Healers grasped his upper arm and he twisted, fought against the hold. 

"Be still!" Eir told him, but if Stevaein even heard he did not obey, thrashing against the hold of the second - and then a third - healer, fighting their grip as determinedly as he had fought on the battlefield. 

"Stevaein, you must-" Thor began, but Stevaein only fought harder, pulling one of the Healers off-balance until he fell, where another took his place. 

Stevaein fought harder still. 

"Let me go!" he rasped, blood flowing freely from the wound once more. 

Loki, swept forward from his corner and knelt behind Stevaein, grasping Stevaein's head in both his hands to hold him fast, to direct his sight. 

"Thor?" Stevaein asked suddenly, seeing the figure before him, and his eyes narrowed as his gaze became ever more distant, his body's movements slowing in confusion.

"Sleep," Loki murmured, tendrils of emerald light flowing from his fingertips, glinting in Stevaein's unfocussed eyes. 

And, a moment later, Stevaein's eyes closed, and he fell back into Loki's arms with a gentle sigh. 

Though he was substantial for a mortal, he was nothing to Loki's strength and, without so much as a gasp of strain, Loki lifted him, turned him, and set him back on the table. 

"He will not wake again until your work is finished," he said softly, slender fingers sweeping one strand of dark blond hair from Stevaein's glittering forehead. "Continue." 

Eir stared at the unconscious Stevaein a moment longer, the Healers gathering about her. And then she bowed her head, and set about continuing her work.

**Author's Note:**

>  _meira en elskaði_ – meaning 'More than Loved'  
>  _Bœn Svara_ \- from the word _Bœn_ meaning to answer, and _Svara_ meaing prayer
> 
>  
> 
> **Steve – Stevaein Magri**  
>  _From Svaein (Merval, Södermanland, Sweden) and Magri (Skinny)_
> 
>  **Bucky – Raud Bjarnd** (Bear Red)  
>  _From Bjarndyr (bear) and Rauda (red)_
> 
>  **Tony – Starkad Völundrsson** (Starkad the son of the blacksmith)  
>  _From Starkad (Njal's Saga) and Volundr (blacksmith)_
> 
>  **Bruce – Braes Merki** (Braesi the Flag)  
>  _From Braesi (Malstra, Hälsingland, Sweden) and Merki (flag, or banner)_
> 
>  **Clint – Klint kalla Haukr** (Klint, called Hawk)  
>  _From Knut (Heimskringla) and Haukr (hawk)_
> 
>  **Natasha –Nattalegg Svartr** ('N' Spider Black)  
>  _From Atta and Leggr (eight and legs) and Svartr (black)_
> 
> With **Thor,** _God of thunder, lightning, storms, oak trees, strength, the protection of mankind, hallowing, healing and fertility,_ (thank you, Wikipedia,) and **Loki,** _shapeshifter and trickster, and brother to Thor._


End file.
